Up From Ashes
by Sovereign and Unbroken
Summary: A brother and sister had simply wanted to live out their lives as nobodies, but that pleasure was denied them. Discovering their roles in the future, they take up the mantle of evil. Slowly but surely, they grow and learn what evil truly is, and that being evil doesn't make you bad. But it certainly is fun!
1. Up From the Ash

**This is a little something to test the water. If people read this, I'll continue it. Enjoy. **

A column of smoke rose from the outskirts of Grovesdale. The normally peaceful orchard town was disturbed tonight, and the smoke blotted out the full moon. Sparks and ashes drifted on the wind. Small groups of three or four bustled on the main road, many more going into town than out. A crowd that shrank with every few moments gathered about a flaming shack just off the road. Yet, enough villagers remained to menace the two figures sillhouetted against the flames.

One was lithe and slight, cloaked and hooded, standing several paces away from the crowd. The other, lanky in build, stood closer, with a visored mining helmet strapped upon its head, and a shovel slung over its shoulder. Two of the gathered townsfolk carried another away, while yet another lay, motionless at the lanky figure's feet.

"Bastard killed Jory!" The leader of the mob cried, holding a torch high above his head. "That proves it! They're no-good, and if they stay in our town, they'll curse us all!" The gathered peasants howled their approval. They shuffled slightly closer, causing the lanky figure to take a slow step back.

He made sure to put the business end of his shovel between the mob and himself. He had already dropped two of the blighters, knocking one flat on his arse, and stoving in the other's head. But, when it came down to it, there were still a dozen or so villagers, and if they decided to all come at once, all he could do was go down with a fight. He spared a quick glance over his shoulder, at his sister. Her eyes were outlined beneath her head, glowing ever-so-slightly, and her hands gave off a warm glow. He knew she was scared. So was he.

All they had wanted was a peaceful, anonymous existence. But even that was denied to them. Once the villagers had learned of his sister's powers, they had shunned them, but tolerated them. Now, after the harvest was poor, they had blamed her. And he defended her, like he always did.

Broken from his short reverie, he lashed out at a villager armed with a pick who strayed too close. The flat of the shovel slammed against the man's forearm, and he yelped, dropping his pick and falling backwards. His fellows caught him and hauled him away, but he still howled in pain and anger as he was taken to the back of the mob. Another man stepped forward, this one tall and broad. He carried a large axe, and walked with a certain swagger. It simply made the lanky boy angry.

"Got one more chance to get gone, lad," the woodsman told him. "I'd take it if I was you."

Growling, the lanky boy lunged forward, shovel arcing towards the woodsman's head. The big man moved surprisingly quickly, and caught the shovel's blade on the haft of his axe. With a twist, he tore the shovel from the lanky boy's hands. The woodsman's massive fist smashed into the boy's stomach, knocking all the wind from his lungs, and his knee smashed into his helmeted head. The boy toppled backwards, his head ringing from the blow.

The woodsman shook his head and cracked his neck. "You ought to 'ave left, laddy." He hoisted the axe up above his head, and made to bring it back down.

He never did. A bolt of lightning leapt forth, and struck the big man square in the chest. The axe flew from his hands, and he dropped like a poleaxed oxen. Smoke rose from the cloaked girl's hands, and took several slow steps towards her fallen brother. The lanky boy slowly rose to his feet. The crowd closed in again, this time leaving them almost no room. The lanky boy could feel the flames against the back of his neck. Reaching for the nearest tool, his hand found the worn wooden handle of the woodsman's axe. He pulled its head from the earth, and raised it to meet any assault. He didn't need to.

Several of the villagers had suddenly lost their interest, and instead, looked at something coming down the road. Several long moments passed, and the only sound was the light pad of feet in the distance, and the crackle of the fire. Suddenly, the mob began to part, and as it did, a curious sight met the siblings.

A small, weathered creature lead the procession. It was cloaked, and a small, glowing bauble floated over its back, hung on a stick. It made a wide motion with its arms, and several more of the things, tan-skinned and apparently younger, spread out behind him, roughly shoving their way through the crowd. The weathered one smiled knowingly.

"Hello, young ones. A little birdie tells me you have a knack for causing mayhem…" The creature bowed slightly. "I am Gnarl… Allow me to be the first to congratulate you for finally embracing your abilities… Mistress, and Master." Gnarl smiled as the two siblings traded a glance. "We are at your command. Might I suggest…. A touch of _mayhem?_"

Gnarl saw a certain fire in the boy's eyes. He wasted no time, using the peasants' stunned state to his advantage. He stormed forward, and with a grunt of exertion, backhanded the leader of the mob. Two of the gremlin-like minions bounded to his side, gleefully joining him in mauling the villagers foolish enough to remain. Meanwhile, the girl stared at Gnarl with an intensity he hadn't seen in ages. His smile was almost paternal.

"Yes, I believe you two are destined for great things…. Great, _evil_, things."


	2. A Brief Introduction to Evil

Torqe woke slowly, his head aching and his throat dry. The stone fireplace across the room had burned out, surrounding him in an inky blackness in all directions. The heavy blanket protected him from the worst of the cold, and the bed was likely the softest he had ever slept in. But, yet, he simply couldn't sleep. Sighing, he threw the blanket off, and feeling the bite in the air, wished he hadn't. Wearing nothing but a pair of baggy trousers, he sat up, tossing his legs over the side of the bed and setting them on the cold stone. Resting his elbows on his knees, Torqe took his head in his hands and closed his eyes, sighing softly. His hands were clammy against his cheeks. Why was he so bloody nervous? Lifting his head up, he was startled to see a tan-skinned gremlin, grinning up at him, its eyes glowing slightly in the darkness.

Instinctively, Torqe kicked, and he kicked hard. His bare foot landed square in the gremlin's chest, and sent it flying across the room. From just a few feet away, he heard sharp fits of laughter, and turned to see more of the gremlins, several of which were hunched over, laughing. "That must hurt!" one of them took the time to shout, pointing at their dazed comrade.

Torqe sighed. It all came back to him now. The little gremlin-thing he had booted stood finally, and shook off the worst of its injury. Relatively no worse for the wear, the gremlin dusted itself off and gave Torqe a snaggle-toothed grin.

"Master!" It called.

He sighed again. They kept calling him that, but he wasn't sure if he was truly the master of anything. Surely not his own fate, he thought sullenly. Suddenly mindful of his dry throat, Torqe croaked "Water," and the gremlins scrambled away, kicking, punching, and clawing at one another to fetch water. As they went, laughing gleefully and now doubt causing serious physical harm to one another, Torqe took the few moments of peace to lie back down and think.

The past week had been a blur. A day and a half had been spent on the road, until Gnarl had stopped them on some sort of teleportation pad, and suddenly, they were in a tall, magnificent tower that seemed to be carved from a single piece of solid black stone. Another day had been spent explaining to them the balance of power between so-called good and evil, and how a war was constantly being waged. Gnarl admitted with more than a little pride, that _he _and _every _gremlin-like creature waged the war against good. The next day, Gnarl had explained that he and his sister were the key to this ever-raging war. _Overlords_, he had called them. He was sure to tell them that they were indeed very special, because never before had there been more than one Overlord. Then two days were spent learning about the gremlins, _minions_, they were called. They learned about each of the four types, and were then given a brief history of all the other Overlords.

Torqe, at this point, realized that they were expected to take this revelation as providence and seize control - by all rights, they _should_. But Torqe instead found himself worrying; that he wasn't a proper leader, that all he would do was slow down his sister and she might cast him off, or that this Overlord business might lead to her untimely death. Damn it all, he'd cast himself off a cliff if it meant she was fed and happy, but how could he _know_ that this was the right thing for her? These thoughts rushed through his head unbidden as Torqe lie there, and suddenly he found himself short of breath. When he heard the pitter-patter of the minions returning, he sat up slowly and did his best to steady himself. When one of them entered, carrying a metal pitcher of water, he accepted it, and, seeing that the others crowded at the door held nothing to put the water _in_, he sighed.

"I need a glass," he said. They stared at him blankly. He sighed again, and, shaking his head, drank straight from the pitcher. The water was ice cold, and surprisingly refreshing. He took several deep gulps, and set the now half-empty pitcher down on the nightstand at his bedside. After a moment, he looked at the minion that had brought him the pitcher. It was the same one he had kicked. It was near identical to the others, save for the fact that half of its left ear was gone, apparently bitten off. Torqe stared at it another moment longer, and, eventually, reached out and gave it a pat on the head.

Evidently expecting another thrashing, the minion recoiled from Torqe's hand for a moment, before apparently remembering who Torqe was supposed to be. It steeled itself for another solid blow. One that never came. A look of almost comical bliss crept across the minion's face, and, as Torqe shooed the lot of them away, he could clearly hear the minion shout and howl, shoving and striking at the other minions as it apparently bragged. It would have almost been adorable, if the little buggers weren't so damned ugly.

* * *

The next morning, just like all the others before it, a feast was prepared. Sausage, bacon, eggs, and nearly a dozen different kinds of fruits were piled high on the elongated table. Torqe, as usual, had found his way down to what was the closest thing to a dining room the tower had before his sister. Dressed in a plain tunic and the same baggy trousers he had slept in, he opted to go barefoot. Torqe found his place at the head of the table, next to Gnarl, and the empty seat - also at the head of the table - where his sister was meant to sit. Gnarl looked up to greet Torqe as he approached.

"Greetings master," Gnarl said, smiling his evil little smile, "I heard from a little, evil, birdy that you walloped one of the browns last night." Torqe frowned at Gnarl, and opened his mouth to reply, when the ancient minion continued, "It seems you're finally getting the hang of being an _Overlord_!"

Satisfied that he wasn't being scolded for striking one of the minions - indeed, he was being _encouraged _to do so - Torqe reached forward and began to fill his plate. He did so quite quickly, as he already knew what his favorite selections were. As he ate, a hooded figure descended the stairs. Torqe twisted in his seat to watch as Kali entered the makeshift dining room. His sister wore a fine, silken hooded robe, dyed a royal purple. Her features were sharp and intelligent, and her golden eyes glowed softly from beneath her hood. The skin on her hands were softer and more fair than that of Torqe's, owed to his time spent outside whilst his sister pursued more scholarly paths. Beneath her hood, strands of her auburn hair - the same as Torqe's - could be seen. Kali took her seat beside Torqe.

"Ah, good morning, mistress", Gnarl said, "I hope you're both enjoying your stay so far?"

Kali nodded, her eyes locked with Gnarl's. "Yes. It's quite a lovely tower."

Torqe didn't bother to answer, instead continuing to dig into his food, forgoing all manners to scarf down his meal. Gnarl smiled at his enthusiasm.

"Good. This _is_ your home, after all." Gnarl said casually.

_Is it really, you old bag?_ Torqe wondered. He shook the thought from his head, and noticed that Kali had begun to eat as well. Nowhere near as much as he was planning to eat, but she was still eating, and Torqe supposed that was what mattered.

Compared to his sister, Torqe nearly five inches taller, and two and a half years her elder. He was fourteen, and puberty had begun to take him. His auburn hair, which was shaggy and unkempt when Gnarl had found them, was cropped close to his skull now, and his eyes were an icy blue. His features were more blunt than his sisters, and his nose was slightly crooked where it had been broken before. He was told that he inherited more of his father's looks, while his sister took after their mother. Of course, neither of them truly knew.

They ate in relative silence. Gnarl made himself a plate, but never touched it, instead calling a brown in to take it away, and threatening "_the worst thrashing yet"_ should any of the food be missing. Gnarl stood, at this point, and turned to Kali and Torqe.

"Please, excuse me," the ancient brown said, "but I must go take care of a few things. Feel free to explore the tower, or knock some of the minions about." With that, Gnarl left, hobbling off.

Torqe finished another plateful of food, and looked up to see Kali leaving the room. He stood up. "Wait!" He called, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Where are you going?"

Kali turned and looked back at him. She smiled and said, "To look around." Then she was gone.

Torqe sighed, and raced after her.

* * *

Torqe watched raptly as Giblet worked. Kali, on the other hand, crossed her arms and huffed. The forge wasn't where she had meant to wind up. She shook her head, and made to leave.

"I'm going to look around more," she said.

Torqe blinked, and turned to her. "Alright. Let me know if you find anything interesting." And then she was gone.

Torqe turned back to watch Giblet work. The brown, apparently serving nearly as long as Gnarl, was clearly older than some of the others. His skin was duller and losing its color, but he was still far more active and youthful than Gnarl. The Forge-Master shared Torqe's enthusiasm, and took the chance to share all he knew of his art with his young master.

Giblet showed Torqe bits of the armor he had forged for his old masters, the heads of maces and axes, even one of the old Overlord helms. After seeing all Giblet had in the immediate area, Torqe watched the Forge-Master go into finer details of some of the items.

"Is there anything else?" Torqe asked hopefully.

Giblet tensed. "Not supposed to say, master…." the brown admitted, looking down at the floor.

Torqe furrowed his brow. "Why not?"

"It's a surprise!" Giblet announced, then slapped his palm against his forehead. "Bah! Supposed to be surprise!"

Torqe suddenly felt giddy. If he was supposed to be Overlord, why not use that power? "Show me." He said sternly, pushing the giddiness from his mind.

Giblet frowned worriedly, but obeyed. He motioned for Torqe to stay, and strode to a higher tier, climbing a short set of stairs to reach a lever. Giblet pulled the lever, and a section of the smooth black wall fell away, revealing an alcove with two mannequins bearing armor, and a weapon rack above them. Torqe's eyes glinted with joy. He beamed at Giblet, and nodded to the Forge-Master.

"Our little secret," Torqe told him.

* * *

The next morning, Torqe strode confidently into the dining room, to find it empty, and the table sorely lacking any food. Frowning, he searched the sections of the tower he knew, and eventually found a group of minions, headed by Gnarl, waiting in the throne room. The room was empty and poorly cared for, since it had fallen into disuse after the disappearance of the last Overlord. Gnarl waved Torqe over, and greeted him with his usual crooked smile.

"Ah, hello master," Gnarl said, his smile particularly crooked today.

Torqe eyed Gnarl for a moment, then glanced at the group of minions that were gathered before him. There were at least a few of all four kinds, mostly browns, but quite a few reds. There were less greens and blues compared to the others. Torqe turned to eye Gnarl again.

As he did so, however, Kali walked in. Gnarl waved her over, and his smile suddenly turned so crooked it might as well have been sideways. Now that both Torqe and Kali were there, he motioned for quiet, and eventually got it.

"Now, it is time for our new masters to be officially recognized as…" Gnarl gave a dramatic pause, "our Overlords!" The gathered minions hooted and cheered, shoving one another for a place closest to the Overlords. Gnarl motioned for silence again, and continued, "Giblet, bring it out!"

Torqe felt his heart race. Could it be? He certainly hoped so. The Forge-Master entered the room, carrying a cloth bundle as tall as he was over his shoulder. He shoved his way through the other minions, and eventually stood at Torqe and Kali's feet. Giblet beamed up proudly at the two Overlords, and carefully unwrapped the bundle, exposing the glittering metal within.

Giblet presented Kali a sword, its entirety the same length as her arm, from shoulder to fingertips. The blade was curved, and shaped like an oversized machete. A jewel the color of fire was embedded in the pommel, and as Kali's fingers closed around the grip, the gem began to glow softly. Torqe shared a conspirational grin with the Forge-Master as he was presented with his weapon - a mace, about as long as his leg, the head bearing several flanges. The pommel of the mace bore a whitish gem that appeared to swirl before the eye, but it didn't light up like his sister's had.

But there was more. Two gloves, each made of a matching, glittering metal that resembled steel but was simply too bright. Each was clearly too large for either sibling, though one was larger than the other. In the back of the palm of the gauntlet, was a large jewel, the colors matching those of the siblings' weapons. Curiously enough, however, both gloves were meant for the left hand.

"You are not yet ready to take on the full mantle of being Overlord," Gnarl said, "but you will receive a proper, _evil_ upbringing, and you will train. Once you are prepared, the world will be yours to stomp upon." Gnarl's smile went from crooked to clearly demented quickly. Torqe looked at his sister, to find that she was still admiring her blade. He considered everything for just one last moment, and then decided that perhaps this _was _the proper choice, after all.


End file.
